Razvrat
by Small Bombs
Summary: Black tea, mint and six cubes of rafinad—His reward for an afternoon of hard work... Or no work at all, rather. Volgin/Raikov, sfw, mentions of gore and torture methods but nothing too graphical.


The aroma of mint and black tea was one etched into Ivan's senses since his early childhood. Back then he wasn't too fond of it, because it symbolized nothing but early awakenings and promises of long, cold walks to school, what little warmth he had gained through his meager breakfast stolen by the painful slap of a never-ending snowstorm.

But now, over 10 years later, that scent had a different meaning. It certainly meant awakenings still, that hadn't really changed. But now those awakenings were early, late or whenever the hell he felt like returning from pleasant dreams to a similarly pleasant reality, eyes looking for blonde hair and broad shoulders before they could even begin to focus properly.

"Hmm... That smells good."

His voice didn't disturb him, as usual. Volgin continued to stand with his back to him, impassible, his large figure hiding the source of the aroma making his stomach rumble.

Then, the distinctive sound of something falling into liquid.

One, two...

... Three, four, five, _six_ cubes of rafinad.

Ivan licked his lips: Six meant that that glass was meant for him. His darling knew exactly how sweet he liked his tea. He knew the right amount of mint he liked with it, too. His darling knew many things, really, if not everything: He knew how mild he liked it, how aromatic, how rich, how warm...

No...

_Hot_ was the word.

Zhenya knew how _hot_ he liked it. How hard he liked it—How _painful—_

... And he caught himself there, before his mind started wandering to dark places; he had just woken up, after all. Raikov couldn't stop the mischievous smile that took over his lips, tough, cheeks rosy with memories from only a few hours ago.

His body still ached.

"Is it not ready yet?"

"... You're impatient, as always."

"And you're slow, as always." He mimicked, pursed lips threatening to turn into a pout.

Volgin only chuckled. He normally wouldn't allow such insolence, yet Ivan was the exception to every single one of his rules. "You can't hurry this. Good tea deserves time."

"Fine, fine. I'll just help myself to some sweets then, if you don't mind? I'm starving."

Forcing his muscles to abandon their state of hibernation, Raikov tried to reach for his clothes near the edge of the bed. Volgin promptly turned around when he heard the word 'snacks', however, taking two long strides and grabbing the box hidden in the Major's pants' pocket.

"H-Hey—"

"..." The man stared at the box for a moment. "... This already expired." He finally stated, brow furrowing.

A pout. "Food's food."

"You will not eat this. I will not have you getting sick again."

"Oh, whatever, I'm hungry now, and I have a couple of hours free to spend on the toilet later."

The Colonel chuckled again and shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder how have you survived this long without me. Where did you find this?"

"A table in the cafeteria!" He replied sprightly.

"..."

"... On a couch in the lounge?" He tried doubtfully.

"..."

"... The floor of the west wing." He finally admitted, defeated.

"... You're incorrigible."

"Can I have it back?"

"No."

"Pleaseee, pleaseee. Don't be so cruel, Zhenechka—"

"Don't." He stopped Ivan with a stern finger pointed in his direction when he pulled out the puppy-abandoned-in-the-snow look on him. "You are mine, and I take care of what's mine. I will order you some food if you're so hungry. I hear they brought veal recently."

"But that will take so long to cook!" He whined, yet his lover was having none of it: Volgin promptly threw the snacks in a trashcan nearby and walked towards the door.

"Then you will have to wait, Major."

Ivan harrumphed and vengefully clung onto the pillow that had somehow ended up between his arms and legs during his sleep; probably a body double he had taken prisoner once the Colonel abandoned his side. It was not big enough of a replacement, though, and not nearly as satisfying to squeeze.

"Now." He said as he closed the door. "While we wait for that to arrive, we can have some tea."

"Hmgfmhj..."

"Don't sulk."

But sulk he did as he heard him walk back to the samovar and pour himself some tea as well. Two cubes were enough for the Thunder God, and after gently stirring the tea for another minute, he announced solemnly:

"It's ready."

Raikov turned to receive his favorite podstakannik in spite of his vexation—Food was more important than pretending to be angry, after all. Having to move proved a challenge though, his body resenting their previous _activities_, and he only managed to properly sit up straight once Volgin's large hand placed itself on his lower back and pushed him forward.

"Does it hurt?"

"Hm..." He shrugged, then smiled. "No more than usual."

He took a sip of his tea and its warmth seemed to slip from his lips and throat to the tip of his toes. It was pleasant—No—_comforting_, rather, just like the arm that wrapped itself around his shoulder as Volgin's heavy body made the mattress shift so low that Raikov found himself sliding to his side, nearly sitting on his lap.

"Scratch my head?" He asked, lips on the edge of his glass.

Volgin obliged with a deep chuckle. "I'll take it you're not mad at me anymore, then?"

"Hmph. Maybe. You know I get irritable when people take away my food after all, and you've been doing that a lot lately."

"You deserve better than cheap rations and expired snacks, Vanyushka."

Raikov smiled mid-sip, and he knew the heat in his cheeks didn't come from the tea.

"I love it when you call me that."

He kissed the side of his face and Volgin pulled his hair gently as a sign of acknowledgment, the corner of his lips upturned. He would've continued kissing lower, yet the minty aroma coming from underneath reminded him of his hunger and Raikov's lips were stolen by his glass once again, sipping on it insistently while ignoring the scorching heat hurting his tongue. His eyes lazily scanned the room as he drank, eventually resting on the setting sun that painted the samovar with a light shade of yellow and red.

Silence.

Time seemed to stand still when they were together like that. When Zhenya's fingers were buried in his hair, gently massaging his scalp, with the scent of tea and the exhaustion of a self-indulgent afternoon. Moments like those were getting more and more uncommon with the nearing completion of the Shadohog, the growing tension in the base that came with it, and...

"You should rest, Ivan."

"Huh?"

It took Raikov a second to register his words, his eyes tearing away from the samovar to look up at Volgin.

"Rest?" He repeated. "I'm alright, though. Just a little sore. A little sleepy, too."

"You're always sleepy."

"Am not."

"Don't think the complaints about you dozing off during your patrols don't reach my ears, Vanya." He said, stern tone softened by the smile on his lips. "That I choose to ignore them is another story."

"It's not my fault, alright? I need my beauty sleep to keep myself in shape."

"At 5 in the afternoon?"

"Yes."

"After a 10 hour nap?"

"... If that is the sacrifice I must make to maintain my loveliness, then so be it." He said, flicking his hair like a diva. Volgin snickered.

"You will grow fat."

"Not if my Colonel works me as hard as he does every day, I won't."

"Oh?" His grin turned into a sadistic sneer. "Then I will work you extra hard to compensate for your hours of slothfulness. Does that sound fair to you, Major?"

"... Please have mercy."

The Colonel laughed at Raikov's slightly panicked tone—God knew he enjoyed his 'work out' alright, but enjoying it didn't mean it wasn't _extremely_ _draining_ either.

Then again, that would mean even more sleeping and eating to recuperate.

But then that would make Zhenya work him even harder.

... What a puzzle.

Submerged in his half-serious musings, Ivan didn't notice how the fingers on his head had stopped massaging his scalp, nor the fact that Volgin's tea was untouched. He was brought to reality once more by his rumbling voice a minute later, not a trace of mirth remaining in it when he spoke up, slow and grave:

"You should rest, Ivan."

"What?" Raikov blinked, startled by the deja vu. "But... I really am fine. Give me a day or two and..."

"No, I mean... Perhaps you should rest somewhere else."

"What are you...?"

"A vacation."

"Vacation?" He echoed. "I don't need a vacation. The soldiers can tell you that, too—I really do sleep a lot in the lounge, you know."

He joked, but Volgin didn't smile along this time. He continued staring straight ahead silently instead, and Ivan finally took notice of the stiffness of his jaw and the cooling tea, omens of bitter words to come.

"You're worried."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No. It isn't worry. I don't worry—If I did, I wouldn't have gotten where I am today, Ivan. Worry brings doubt, and doubt halts progress' steady march. Worry is for the weak-willed and the cowardly, those who—"

"Is it the American agent?"

He had interrupted his rambling without any sort of consideration, yet Volgin seemed untroubled by his insolence. He only nodded stiffly, frown deepening and making his features contort in a terrifying scowl.

"There have been... casualties. And they increase in number with every passing hour."

"But none of them are really important, right?"

"No. Not yet, and that's what I would like to prevent." He finally drank some of his tea, though he did it out of duty more than anything. "The Cobras, the soldiers... all those lives are disposable. There are few lives in this base that are of any importance, truly."

He looked down at him, blue eyes softening when he met Raikov's lighter ones.

"Yours is one of those."

Ivan didn't realize he had been holding his breath until then, and his belly, his cheeks, his limbs, they all warmed up with glee and delight. He hid his growing smile behind his glass, feeling suddenly bashful.

"Is it, now?"

"Yes. That is why I think it's time to take measures. I want you to go far away, wait for me somewhere safe until this is all over. Or rather, it begins. You can wait for me in Yalta, or I will take you out of this country if necessary. Wherever you are out of harm's way is good e—"

"I refuse."

Volgin rose his eyebrows, watching Raikov promptly take another sip of his tea.

"You... refuse?"

"That's what I said."

"Vanya—"

"I'm not going anywhere." He said firmly. "See, as much as I love Yalta and really could use some walks on the beach while watching the sunset, those are worthless to me if my Colonel isn't there by my side." Volgin's raised eyebrows dropped back down again into a displeased frown.

"Ivan, this is no time for you to act spoiled. With the American agent on the loose and looking for a way to get to me and the Legacy, your life is in danger—"

"Do you really think I'm so terribly helpless, Zhenya?" It was Raikov's turn to frown. "I may have earned all my ranks through _unorthodox_ _methods_, but don't you forget I'm a soldier regardless. I can defend myself just fine."

"This is no ordinary man. He has beaten three Cobras, and though they were far from the flawless soldiers I was promised, they were still vicious and powerful. You do _not_ stand a chance."

"You don't know that—And if I really didn't, I'd just run away!"

"He won't let you run away, Ivan. This is war. It's kill or be killed."

"He let Ocelot go, didn't he?"

"..."

"He did. So I am not leaving, Zhenya."

"You—_Fine_." Realizing the Major was not going to back down, Volgin resignedly proposed another idea: "If you refuse to leave, then you should at least stay put. Perhaps only leave my room when absolutely necessary."

"That's too much!" Ivan whined. "I will get bored! And besides, I still have responsibilities, as little as they are."

"Someone else can take care of that. Your patrols can be covered by the other soldiers, and anything else you do can be taken care of by Tanya."

The fact that Volgin didn't care for the safety of that woman as much as he did for his filled Raikov with a sense of satisfaction. "But... But I will be bored out of my mind regardless, you know."

"Boredom never killed anyone."

"It would kill me! I love going out to play, you know that."

"Play? You mean beating and harassing soldiers at random?" Raikov shrugged.

"Well, someone's gotta keep them on their toes. Otherwise they'll grow careless."

He earned a chuckle from his lover, but didn't seem to shake his resolve just yet: "Vanya, you must..."

"I'll be fine." He assured, sticking out his tongue at him only pull it back in when Volgin tried pinching it with his fingers. "I won't leave your side, you can't make me. Besides, I wouldn't miss torturing the American pig with you for the world."

"Oh? Do you have plans for him?"

"Maybe." He took another sip of tea, smiling impishly as he snuggled closer to his lover. "I've always wanted to see what poking someone's eye out feels like."

"Heh... Not quite as fun as cutting their tongue is, if you must know."

"Oh, oh, I'd like to try that also. Ever tried pulling their teeth out, one by one?" Volgin shook his head from side to side.

"Only with my fists. I don't have the patience to pull out each one, nor the time."

"Hah, then I want to give it a try. Maybe we could cut his fingers, too, one for every day he refuses to speak..."

"Hoh. And if you run out of fingers?"

"Then, hm..." Ivan clapped his hands, smile filled with joy as he came up with a brilliant plan: "Then we can slice pieces of flesh off of him, like you'd slice pieces of ham! Until there's nothing left but bare bone."

"Heh. As usual, you prefer things messy. Then perhaps I should get fancy, too?" He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Like breaking every single bone in his body... It would take some dedication, though. Or I could tear patches of hair off his skull, like this..." He took a hold of Ivan's locks, making him yelp, then giggle as he simulated viciously pulling them right out of his scalp. "But then again... we should leave something for Ocelot, I suppose. He's had his eye on the agent even before us."

"Psh. He's just a child with a crush."

A raised eyebrow. "A 'child'? He is your age."

"But my heart is older."

"Is it, now?"

"My! You doubt my maturity?" Raikov said, feigning terrible offense and the Colonel grinned.

"You were sulking over a box of expired snacks half an hour ago, Vanyushka."

"... Stingy."

He puffed his cheeks, unaware of how he was further proving his lover's point with his haughty attitude. After a long, rumbling laughter, Volgin sighed resignedly and buried his fingers back into Raikov's hair.

"Fine. You can stay. But your shifts will take place during the day, and you will only have one shift per day. You will come back once you're done with them, and remain here until I return."

"No way! I'll really get bored out of my mind, Zhenechka!" Volgin gave him an impassive look and Raikov desperately held onto his arm. "I need to move at least a little more than that! Your room is big but not that big! Please, you've got to reconsider...!" He was still unimpressed, blue eyes icy and detached as ever, and Raikov puffed his cheeks. "I'm warning you: I _will_ grow fat." He threatened, and Volgin finally broke in a guffaw, lightly shaking his head.

"That's fine. I'd rather have you fat than dead."

"But..." He was cut off by Volgin's hand flat on his face.

"That is enough from you."

"Tch..." Raikov pouted like a spoiled princess being denied a 10th pony for her birthday, and brusquely let go of the Colonel's arm. "Fine, fine, fine! But... But will you at least come see me more often...?"

"See you?"

"Yes."

Ivan pulled away and leaned back on the fluffy pillow behind him. Pale legs opened ever so slightly, and after another sip of his lukewarm tea, the blonde fluttered his eyelashes seductively.

"_See me_."

Volgin rose his eyebrows, pretending to be unimpressed, yet his roaming eyes betrayed him. "Are you trying to tempt me, major?"

"Is it working?" His smile was distorted behind the podstakannik, and he fluttered his eyelashes again. "I will stay put if you stay put with me, Zhenechka. You can ask someone else to take lead of this project and stay here with me, entertain me until it's all over."

"You've got some nerve. You are the one who entertains me, Ivan, not the other way around."

A sly smile. "Are you sure about that?"

"..."

Volgin regarded him with half-lidded eyes, and a grin bloomed on his lips.

"Maybe. I am starting to have my doubts."

The Colonel leaned towards him, and Raikov looked up to meet up his hungry gaze. "Good."

An open-mouthed kiss was waiting for him and he happily received it, answering right away with tongue and teeth and spit, placing his nearly empty glass on the mattress next to Volgin's. Both glasses swayed and threatened to spill their contents on the sheets, yet they cared little, focus entirely stolen by their mixing breaths and heating mouths. Impatient, the Colonel's gloved hand reached for the space between his legs with no more preamble and Raikov threw his head back, lips open in a smile as he closed his eyes...

Only to snap them back open when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Oh, dinner!"

With strength born from the depths of his empty belly, Raikov pushed Volgin away from him and quickly scrambled towards his clothes, the pain in his body completely forgotten to his desperation for food. The Thunder God sat there for a moment, eyes still on the place Ivan had been 0.1 seconds ago, and after another couple of seconds (In which Raikov had somehow managed to dress decently enough for the public eye in some sort of world record,) he let out a guffaw of disbelief.

"Sometimes I wonder if your love for food is stronger than your love for me."

"Oh, don't sulk." He said in the same stern tone the Colonel had used an hour ago, then winked mischievously. "We can do it while I eat if you want."

"No... Not after last week."

"Aw, c'mon. I promise I won't choke this time."

"Later, Vanya. I don't consider the smell of cooked meat to be very erotic."

"... I kinda do."

Deep laughter, and a shake of his head. "I can see that well enough."

Taking both glasses off the bed, Volgin watched the blonde wobble his way over to the door. He seemed ready to attack the poor, frightened cook as soon as he made his entrance, truth be told—probably eat him too if the meal didn't prove satisfactory or abundant enough. The thought of Ivan with a bloody arm between his teeth made him smile fondly, smile that was returned by his lover when he turned around cheerfully and waved at him, mouth dirty with meat and thick, red sauce that resembled human blood.

Precious.

There would be _hell_ to pay if that Agent laid a single finger on his Vanyushka, he thought, tightly gritting his teeth. That was for certain.

* * *

><p>Thanks so much to tumblr user keksballs for the prompt and all her help with both russia's costumes and language!<p> 


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